


Batverse/Charlie's Angels AU

by orphan_account



Category: Charlie's Angels (Movies), DCU
Genre: Abandoned Work - Unfinished and Discontinued, Alternate Universe - Fusion, F/M, M/M, Up for Adoption
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-18
Updated: 2010-12-18
Packaged: 2017-11-16 23:44:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,517
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/545130
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Clothes,” says Cass, and Tim grunts as a duffle bag hits him in the chest.</p><p>He peeks inside. “You’ve got to be kidding me. What sort of party is this?”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Batverse/Charlie's Angels AU

**Author's Note:**

> More plotting than prose, I'm afraid.

An obnoxiously cheerful melody blares out from Tim’s mobile – Dick must have swiped his phone when his back was turned and changed his settings _again_ – waking him up. He straightens from his prone position slumped across his desk, wincing, his spine feels like it’s trying to crawl out of his skin. He scrubs at his face, looks blearily around the room, at the folded futon and cardboard boxes, a lone table and desktop computer. No success, again, last night, staring at the screen until his eyes ached and his legs cramped. Their security’s a lot better than he expected but he knows he’s up to it.

He grabs his Blackberry and heads to the kitchen to make a fresh pot of coffee.

As the smell of Kicking Horse’s Indonesian blend fills the room, butter-smooth and dark, he checks his phone. There’s a new message: _1920._ He looks at the wall to check the time and it confirms what his body-clock is telling him; he has ten minutes to shower and change and, traffic permitting, he’ll make it to the meeting on time. In fact, he’ll probably end up waiting for Dick, who has a tendency to be five minutes early or late. Cass, of course, will arrive exactly on time.

Tim stretches, joints creaking, and pours himself a mug of coffee. He hums a laugh around a mouthful. It’s a special kind of ridiculous to think that Cass, who, at rough estimate, speaks perhaps a thousand words a day on average, is his and Dick’s liaison to the boss.

He starts running through his stretches. He has a slight headache and he didn’t get as much sleep as he should have but he can function. He’s not as bad as he was eight months ago when he’d first been recruited. Sometimes he still has trouble sleeping, unused to the long, erratic hours, but he needs it, sometimes thinks he may even love it, the way every assignment demands his total concentration, how it leaves no time for him to go over, again and again in his mind –

Steph. A phone call from the police, their condolences, how she was a valued member of the force, a hero. A shoot out, they said. She saved six people. The perp escaped, the only clue a playing card.

Tim wasn’t there at her last moments but he sees, clearly in his mind’s eye, the image of her lying on cold white sheets, breath rattling in her lungs, slowly staining her bandages red. The room becoming dimmer by the minute.

When the letter had come, requesting he meet _Bruce Wayne_ about a job, Tim had done the only thing he could have: dropped out of all his courses at MIT and jumped on the first plane to Gotham.

He shakes himself, gulps the rest of the coffee down despite the burn and sprints for the bathroom.

Gotham’s streets are as grimy and busy as ever, its residents unsmiling. At this time of day, Gotham is full of loitering children fresh from the classroom, looking to burn off excess energy from a day of sitting down and learning. There is a sense of familiarity riding down these cracked, grey streets, his bike a throaty purr, despite not having lived in this city since he was five years old. His parents had insisted on moving to Massachusetts after Haly’s. Plummeting to the earth, green and gold. Bright, bright red. Screams. Later, Tim found out that John Grayson died at the scene. Mary Grayson broke both her legs.

Gotham, though, speaks to something inside him. He has only a few memories of the city but they are vivid ones. He knows that if he takes off his helmet he will smell motor oil and hot grease, see the constant, low-hanging smog over the city without the barrier of tinted plastic. A home he’d found again.

The office where he and Dick are debriefed is located above a small family restaurant near the financial district. From the outside it’s nearly impossible to tell that there is an upper floor to the building. Tim’s checked – there’s no documented address in the city’s system.

Tim enters the restaurant through a side entrance which to all appearances is rusted shut, closed with a heavy chain and padlock to which the proprietors lack the key. He makes his way through the narrow, water-stained stairwell leading to a scratched, wooden door with no handle.

It opens before he can knock for politeness’ sake. Dick leans against the doorframe, one ankle crossed over to the other. A lazy smile. “Hey, Timbo, just made it on time. I’ve been watching you since you turned into Stark Street. Come on in.”

They engage the various locking mechanisms on the door and make their way to the couch. It faces the room’s single red-stained, cherry wood desk, on which a speaker rests. Displayed on the mantle are two photographs, one of Dick, Tim, and Cass, the other of Dick and a dark-haired man whom Tim doesn’t recognise. The couch should fit three or four people comfortably but somehow seems much, much smaller when Dick’s sprawled over it and half-plastered to Tim’s side. Tim shoves at him to move over, but not as seriously as he would have months ago.

“Good morning, Angels.”

“Good morning, Brucie.” Tim says it as flatly as he can. Dick always manages to get the words out with a wide, guileless smile which Tim doesn’t believe at all.

Tim has to try. “Bruce – ”

“Call me Brucie, tiger, it’s what everyone else does! There’s no need to be a stranger.”

Of all the dubious bosses and professors Tim’s had – he worked in more than one questionable establishment during college, and, frankly, academics are not the most conventional of people – Brucie is by far the most horrifying. “Brucie, while I acknowledge that Brucie’s Angels does have a certain _je ne sais quoi_ , I honestly don’t see what was wrong with the old moniker.”

The speaker on the desk emits a loud raspberry. “I’ll tell you what was wrong – it had no flair, Timmy! Oops, I’m sorry, I mean Tim, I know that’s what you prefer. Think of it like this, would you rather give your business to a private investigation agency called Brucie’s Angels or one called Brucie’s Robins? Exactly.”

“A different name doesn’t mean we do different work. Why argue? Bruce. You have a new assignment?” Cass melts out of the shadows in the corner of the room. Tim congratulates himself for not jumping. He can feel Dick tense briefly where he’s pressed against him.

“Why does Cass get to call him Bruce?” murmurs Tim.

As he speaks, Dick’s hair tickles Tim’s cheek. “I think he’s too scared of her stop her.”

“Ah, yes! The client is Phillip Burr, the head of Kruess Labs on West 20th. He’s concerned about the behaviour of one of his newer employees, Tanya Verma. She’s been acting erratic, taking work home, skipping her breaks. He’s concerned that she’s stealing information about a new drug that’s in development and selling it to a rival company. Burr’s suspicious but hasn’t managed to catch her red-handed, and the building’s CCTV hasn’t shown anything out of the ordinary. That’s where you come in.

“Verma is hosting a party at her house for a girlfriend tomorrow night – she’s hired two dancers to perform. Your task is infiltration and the retrieval of her hard drive. Plant a few cams around the house along the way. Cass has the dossier. The blueprints of Verma’s house are inside. Her workstation and safe are in the bedroom upstairs.”

The whisper of silk and good tailoring as Cass glides across the room. She has no shoes on. Her toenails, painted sangria, gleam under the light. She drops a folder on Dick’s lap and waits, arms folded.

Dick opens the folder, scans the first page and lets out a low whistle. “Our girl Tanya? Daughter of a board member of the Gotham City Science Institute. She and her parents are estranged; they had a disagreement over a boyfriend, a guy named Goldman. The Vermas are meant to be pretty traditional.”

“Clothes,” says Cass, and Tim grunts as a duffle bag hits him in the chest.

He peeks inside. “You’ve got to be kidding me. What sort of party is this?”

“A hen’s night, of course. Wonderful tradition. Ha ha, I can tell that you boys are excited about the mission. Good! Keep it up, I like enthusiasm! Is that all? I’ll just be going now. Fly, my Angels!”

Tim frowns. “One more thing. Did you find out what was wrong with the malfunctioning equipment? We can’t afford to have that happen again on another assignment. We got lucky; we can’t rely on finding spare jumper cables lying around next time.”

“I don’t know anything for certain yet.” For once in his life, Brucie sounds serious. “I’ll let you know when I find out.”

 

Verma’s apartment is located in downtown Gotham. Dick and Tim eschew the bikes as they’d stick out like sore thumbs in that neighbourhood. The walk – “Breathe in the smog, it’s invigorating,” says Dick – from the office to Verma’s brownstone takes half an hour. Along the way they dissuade a man with missing teeth and a cheap knife from taking their wallets.

“Okay, I wouldn’t mind someone trying to mug me if I actually had any money on me for them to steal,” grumbles Dick as they wait for Verma to answer the door. “These damned clothes don’t have any pockets.”

They both look at his leather pants, fitted as a glove and sleek black, and the triangle of mesh shirt visible above the neckline of his jumper.

“Bruce has a lot to answer for,” says Dick finally.

The corner of Tim’s mouth curves. “Oh, I don’t know. I think it suits you.”

A leer. Dick’s expressive eyebrows and mobile mouth can convey volumes. All too often, however, he feels the need to verbalise his thoughts, in case anyone can’t read them straight off his face. Tim recognises the leer as the signal for imminent sexual harassment, and braces himself accordingly, when they’re interrupted.

The woman who opens the door appears to be in her mid- to late-twenties. According to the dossier she’s thirty-three. She’s had a haircut but otherwise looks like the picture Brucie provided. Perhaps a little more tired. The photo didn’t show the laugh lines around her eyes. It’s stupid but Tim still expects criminals to look seedy, trench coats and dark sunglasses, hands in pockets. “Hello!” she grins brightly, smoothing down her dress. “Wow, Rachel is going to love you two.”

[More description of house]

There are seven women on various couches in the lounge room. Tim scans the group – from the way the rest of them are arranged, the blonde in the green shirt at two o’clock is Rachel. Most of the women hold glasses of some sort of alcohol. His eyes fall on a bucket of ice on the floor containing two opened champagne bottles. Dick flirts with the women while Tim sets up the portable dance pole.

Someone puts on the latest Bread Brothers song. Tim smiles, showing teeth, as he slowly unzips his jacket and shrugs it off. A red-haired woman watches, head tilted, over the rim her glass. He lets his eyelids lower until he’s looking back from beneath his lashes, strokes one hand down his tie. He glances over in time to see Dick yank his pants off to reveal red vinyl hot pants. Tim lifts his arms over his head and turns slightly, obscuring his face so no one can see him laughing.

Dick stalks over. “I saw that,” he says in Tim’s ear before nuzzling his neck. The ladies holler.

Tim does something very close to a shimmy before bringing his hands to Dick’s hips. “Three songs, then I head upstairs. You distract them.” Dick nods.

They separate so Dick can spray hairspray on his hands, arms, and legs. Tim moves forward, unbuttoning his shirt. Verma and one of the women have disappeared, presumably to the kitchen for more food. He lets the shirt fall to the ground. Across the room, Dick circles the pole before mounting it in a flashy handspring.

Tim starts dancing. One song finishes. A second song. Near the end of the third, he shucks his pants, listens to the applause and hopes his face isn’t turning noticeably red. Brucie’s missions tend to get him into the most ridiculous situations. He feels like an actor in a farce.

Tim walks over to Dick, hanging in a cross knee release, pole between taut thighs, spine arching. Tim rests his hands on Dick’s triceps, slick skin beneath his palms. Resists the urge to squeeze. “Your mic on?”

Dick nods, damp hair clinging to his face.

“I’m going upstairs.”

Tim smiles at the women and cocks his head, mouths, “Bathroom?” One of the women points to the doorway connecting the room to the corridor before bringing her eyes back to Dick. Tim nods his thanks and pulls on his jacket. When he passes, Rachel gives him an appreciative glance, raises her glass.

As he walks through the corridor, he veers towards the staircase. The air cool against his body as he pads his way silently through the dark house. When he decides he’s far enough from the lounge, he clicks on his penlight and slips into the second door on the left, pulls out gloves from his jacket’s pocket and slips them on.

Bed, rumpled sheets. Dresser. Wardrobe. He walks over to the desk and boots up the computer. He attaches a travel drive from his other pocket and starts running a program to break the encryption algorithm. While it’s running, he crouches down and pulls up the rug to reveal the safe underneath.

 _362-3833._ Nothing. He tries again. _283-5826._ Two down. He memorised five of the manufacturer’s master combinations. What if there are newer ones? _473-8025._ He feels a trickle of sweat slide down his neck.

Dick’s voice in his ear, panting. “Someone might be going upstairs.”

Tim closes his eyes briefly. “Five minutes,” he says under his breath. The new mics should be able to pick it up.

“Hurry.”

Tim stands up and darts over to the computer. Eighty percent. He back drops down to his knees and presses his ear against the metal of the safe door. Twirls the dial.

[More tension] 

_916-0536._ Tim hears a soft _thunk_ and breathes a sigh of relief. He opens the safe and shines his light down. Money, jewellery, a photo album. He flips through the album but it only contains photos of Tanya and a brown-haired man, presumably her boyfriend. He puts it back and locks the safe.

“Company.” Dick sounds terse.

Tim swears and straightens the rug into place on the floor. He can hear someone at the bottom of the stairs. He waits on edge as the program – finally – finishes, and shoves travel drive and penlight into his pockets. He runs out of the room, yanking off his gloves, and bumps into a person walking up the stairs. He grabs her before she can fall.

“Hey!” she squints up at him. Her breath smells of tequila and some sort of fruit, pomegranate perhaps. They’ve started making martinis. “What’re you doin’ up there?”

He blinks rapidly. “Oh, I was just. Looking for the bathroom.” He smiles uncertainly.

The woman shakes her head, slowly, slowly. “So pretty. So dumb. Bathroom’s the other way.” She scrunches her nose. “Why’re you wearing clothes? Didn’t you take those off? By the way, your friend’s ass is amazing.”

Tim fights the urge to laugh hysterically.

 

Back in his apartment, Tim flicks on the wall switch, watches the bright, artificial light flood the white walls like an overexposed photograph. He hangs his jacket on a chair and wanders into the kitchen. Looks into his fridge. Sees yoghurt, a four-pack of avocados, asparagus. Beer for when Dick comes over, Cherry Zesti. He takes one because the taste reminds him of late nights on his couch watching Wendy the Werewolf Stalker, sticky kisses.

Walking into the hall, he takes a swig and pulls a face. He always forgets how bad it is.

The photograph on the end table is from Christmas last year. His roommate had dragged him to a party, raucous and hot

Tim calls Steph’s answering machine, listens to her voice. A memory of he and Steph at a friend’s Christmas party. Tim doesn’t drink much but Steph had goaded him [something about her smile] – he remembers rolling around in the damp grass, the warmth of her by his side, her scent of alcohol on her gusting breath. On his back, laughing as he gazes into the night sky, deep violet like a bruise, the stars slowly spinning and spinning. Grass stains on his clothes the next morning.

Quick phone call to parents: Hope you’re enjoying your trip to Tahiti. Don’t be angry, this is the best thing for me right now.

Next day at office – Tim and Dick report successful mission, Tim tells Brucie what he found on hard drive (account numbers. Verma selling chemicals to someone. Something happening at abandoned Frosty Freezies Factory)

Cass something something, Brucie hangs up.

Dick sees Tim looking at photo (Jason and Dick) on mantle, explains the man is Jason, ex-robin. Went after a freak/criminal called the Joker* by himself – was always impetuous – was beaten, fell into a coma. After woke up, Brucie wouldn’t let him keep working.

*Tim starts to put it together, suspects Joker killed Steph

“He went off grid for a year. We couldn’t find him anywhere. It was – a bad time. Bruce wouldn’t answer any of Cass’ or my calls. Then one day he said he was renaming the company, and that he had a new assignment, and a new partner for us. You.”

Tim goes home, feverishly tries to break hack into Bruce’s system again. (Had heard of Brucie’s PI agency, had taken job for opportunity to find Steph’s killer.) Hopes against odds that maybe this time he’ll make it past the third level of security. Maybe.

 

Tim and Dick investigate factory (on rooftops) (As the wind chaps his face, Tim finds himself wishing for – a cape. Something. Steph had always accused him for having a penchant for the dramatic.), interrupted by someone shooting at them. Dick sprains his ankle by falling off grapple line. Mysterious purple hooded figure points out how to escape. (BE SUBTLE)

Dick: Probably one of the birds. They’re another organisation that operates in Gotham.

They go to Tim’s house (closest) to ice and bandage his ankle.

Dick – Wtf, you’ve been here for months, why do you still have unpacked boxes?

Dick – I think something’s going on. I think Brucie knows who has it out for us and isn’t telling.

“I met him a few times. Brucie. Each meeting was ... unforgettable. Wonder how much of it is an act, though. I’ve worked for him for years – he’s the one who prepares the dossiers, did you know that? – and there’s no way he would have lasted this long if he’s as idiotic as he acts.”

Dick sees photo of Steph/[insert coincidence]

Tim – she was my girlfriend, cop, was murdered. Met Steph at a computer security conference at while attending MIT. She was like no one I’ve ever met. -- WHY HASNT DICK EVER ASKED ABOUT STEPH’S PHOTO?? FIX THIS

Dick holds Tim

 

Meeting at the office. Jason gatecrashes, admits he is the saboteur.

Jason: “I have as much right to be a Robin as anyone. Who the fuck is that, he’s like twelve yours old; you’ve replaced me with a child?”  
Tim: “I’m 22.”  
Dick: “Haven’t you heard? We’re Brucie’s _Angels_ now.”  
Jason: “What?!”

Jason makes a crack about Dick’s ass. Dick tries to reach out to Jason. Jason curls his lip.

Bruce tries to convince Jason to stop, Jason tells him to fuck off, determined to beat the Joker like the Joker beat him

 

 

\- Tim, Dick and Cass (comes along to make sure nothing happens again) investigate factory.  
\- Description of factory  
\- Chemicals: Hydrogen cyanide, Strychnine (a strychnine derivative) - research!  
\- Find out they’re making Joker venom. Find plans to distribute JV in Gotham’s water supply network  
\- Almost get caught, vent too small, climb through the sub-ceiling, emerge on roof

(Dick, Cass talking about discovery) The air is crisp, cold.

Tim sees, two roofs over, almost obscured by a gargoyle, two figures. Patches of darkness a deeper black than the night sky. One is a woman wearing a mask, her outfit gleams faintly like an oil spill. The other is the hooded figure.

He watches them, curious. Then the person in the hood turns around Tim sees a spill of bright hair, a smile that feels like a punch to the solar plexus. He’s running before he realises what he’s doing, firing his grapple –

 _“Steph,”_ he breathes, clutching her arms, her shoulders, touching her cheek, her brow, “Steph,” he says again before he kisses her.

Once, when he was younger – he’s not sure how old he was, only that it was sometime before Haly’s – he had wandered the school grounds, long after everyone else went home, alone. The chauffeur hadn’t arrived at the usual time to pick him up, so he walked in the woods, in the deepening twilight. Busy looking at the bright foliage of the leaves, he tripped, gasped, stomach twisting, tumbled down into a hidden hole, deep in the earth. Now, he feels that same vertigo, the ground shifting beneath his feet.

“Well, shit,” he hears behind him, dimly. “Some people have all the luck.”

Steph smells the same, faint sweat and pear shampoo. She feels the same, her arms wrapped around his neck, one hand yanking his head closer. The moan against his mouth has the same vibration it’s always had. He tugs her hood off so her hair can spill around them like a golden curtain.

It feels like he’s lost something when he finally pulls away, just far enough for him to look into her eyes. In this light, they look the colour of an iris flower. “I thought you were dead,” he says. He presses a kiss to her temple. “I missed you so much.”

“Oh, god. I’m so sorry, Tim.” She tries to pull away. He stops her.

He has to run a thumb over the crease in her forehead, smooths it out. Murmurs, “What happened, Steph?”

“Um,” she says, looking a little dazed. “I was offered a job. By Oracle. Like your boss, kind of.”

He lets her go. “A job?”

“It was a good time for it, you see.” She holds his hands, looking as earnest as ever. “After I – was shot. Oracle said I’d be more effective if I didn’t, legally, exist anymore. Oracle wanted my help with that gun smuggling ring I was working on back in Boston, remember, Tim? They were running shipments all down the eastern seaboard. We cracked it right open. There’s no way the force would’ve been able to do that.”

Tim takes a step back, then another. “You faked your death? For a job? Steph – you left your whole life behind. You were _happy_ being a police officer. I don’t understand.”

Steph follows him. “I loved it, I loved my work but that doesn’t mean I was happy. Being a cop’s all I ever wanted, especially after my dad – ” her face twists, “but I wasn’t doing any good. And what life? Dad in gaol, I don’t talk to my mom, I wasn’t friends with any of the guys from work besides my partner. This way, I can do so much more.

“Oracle said the Birds would help with find the guy who tried to kill me. This is a great opportunity. I had to take it.”

[tension]

He feels himself let out a broken sound. “So you lied to me? And let me think you were dead? God, Steph, you have no idea what I went through. For a. For a fucking job. You.” He covers his face.

Steph: Bla you can’t understand what it was like, you’re a guy. You’re naive (spouting off about equality) I like that about you but....

I was stuck in a goddamned useless task force with guys always telling me my job was too dangerous for a girl

Steph has never pulled her punches. (memory – teaching him street fighting. He had already learned [Tae Kwon Do] but it hadn’t prepared him for ....)

“Hey, hey, break it up.” Tim looks over at the other woman. She wears a purple and black cut-out outfit, something that looks much too cold for the weather, and holds what looks like a crossbow. “Save it for later. We’ve got a job to do.”

Steph sighs. A part of Tim aches dumbly for causing her to hurt.

“You’re right, Huntress.” She catches Tim’s eye and pre-empts his question. “We have codenames. For security reasons.”

Codenames – like Oracle and Huntress. Jesus. What’s hers? “I have to go now,” he says, and dives off the roof, firing his grapple gun blindly.

 

Tim, Cass (Dick still wiped from last night, doesn’t come along). Cass beats up one of the Joker’s goons until he admits where Joker might be

Tim (thinking) plans to confront Joker by himself about Steph, doesn’t know if he’s going to kill Joker.

Hint that Cass knows Tim’s planning something.

Cass goes home

 

Tim goes to the place, bumps into Jason. Jason: Yeah, I know you’re after him too. What, think I didn’t do my research on my replacement? Let’s work the joker over together. (gives Tim a gun)

Tim: shaking, Brucie hates guns and the Angels don’t use them

Brucie appears with dick -- Cass told us she thought you were going after Joker by yourself

Bruce is all pro, scary, not in playboy mode. Stop Jason and Tim from shooting the joker.

Emotional conversation between Brucie and Jason. Jason gets aggressive – Cass pops out of the shadows and knocks him out. 

Dick: Seriously, stop doing that. It’s creepy!

Found out that: Eugene Goldman, chemist, tried to back out of the plan. Fled to Boston where he had family. Joker followed to execute him, Steph got in the way.

Tanya appears and attacks Joker (dated Eugene – was going to sabotage Joker’s plans)

Bruce opens a can of whoop ass on the Joker, incapacitates him

Tim and Dick go back to Tim’s place. (Dick: No way I’m leaving you alone tonight.)

Tim kisses Dick. 

Dick: Are you sure? Your head’s kind of fucked up right now.

Tim: I’ve wanted to do this since the first time i saw you. Well, the second time. (explains about Haly’s)

Mouth open a little ...

After, Dick lies on his side, his hair a disaster, looks pleased with himself and the universe. “So,” he says, so softly that Tim has to lean in to hear, “I have to say, I didn’t expect that to happen.”

Even with his eyes closed, Tim can feel the weight of Dick’s gaze. It is not unpleasant. “Dick ... .”

“Yeah?”

He lets the edges of his mouth curl up like they want to. “Has anyone ever told you that you have a truly inspiring ass?”

 

Two days ago, Tim had received an email containing a phone number. He hadn’t been surprised when he wasn’t able to trace the sender. He used to think he was a competent hacker. Then he’d come to Gotham and realised how much he still needed to learn.

He grabs his phone and sends a message to the number. _We need to talk._

The reply comes almost instantaneously. _The Clocktower_

He affixes his earpiece – Angels are always on call – and pulls on dark clothes, leather gloves. Warmth and manoeuvrability, but no armour, not tonight. He imagines he can feel the coolness of the rungs of the fire escape through the material of the gloves, thin through the fingers, reinforced palm.

On the roof of his apartment complex, the wind whips his hair in his face. He needs a haircut. The trip to _______ takes ten minutes if he doesn’t take the scenic route, and he takes the opportunity to watch the city’s nightlife, people staggering down the street after a night of clubbing, women in mini-dresses with prowling walks.

Steph’s waiting for him by the edge of the roof, crouched down. She straightens as he lands next to her. “I guess you’re breaking up with me, aren’t you.” She looks straight ahead.

Her hood and face-cowl are down, her hair pulled back. The dim glow of a streetlight gilds her throat, the shape of her jaw. Her cheekbones in relief.

Tim smiles, a little wry. “Technically, I think you did that first.”

They sit on the edge of the roof, legs dangling down. Tim pulls her into his side, her head on his shoulder. He pretends he can’t feel the wetness seeping into his shirt, his own eyes blurring until the sprawling cityscape is a kaleidoscope of brightly coloured lights, neon. They don’t speak for a long time.

Steph was probably – no, he’s being disingenuous; she _is_ the first person he loved outside of his family, still loves, completely and without reserve. ...

Eventually, she pulls away from him and pulls out a tissue from her belt. Tim observes.

“I didn’t get the chance to say this before but I like the outfit.”

She blows her nose. “Glad you approve, boyfr – ex-boyfriend. Whatever.”

They stare at each other for a bit. Steph breaks first. “Which reminds me, thanks for taking care of that psycho for me. The Joker. Jesus. First you bring me flowers, then you upgrade my crummy home security system, and now you’re laying the beat down on my would-be murderer. You’re going to be a hard act to follow.”

Shaking his head, he tells her, “It was mostly Bruce. I just did what I could.”

She eyes him. “So, you do realise that your boss probably knew I was operating in Gotham all along? He might act like a brainless yuppie but this is his city. Not much gets by him.”

Tim lets his teeth show. “Oh, I know. I plan to have a long talk with Bruce next time I’m on base.”

“Woo, you sounded a little scary there, Tim,” Dick’s voice comes through the earpiece. “I’m next to Bruce, by the way – which I am still not over, holy crap, actual, face-to-face contact. I still can’t believe you made us call you Brucie, you _jerk_ – and he just totally. Shifted. Like, there was movement of his feet. For him, that’s practically announcing that he’s freaked out. Well done!”

A snicker. Tim really can’t help himself. He brings his attention back to Steph, who still looks a little sad. “What’s wrong?” he asks, and stands up, reaching for her hand.

She lets him take it and pull her to her feet, puts on a smile. It’s only slightly wobbly. “Nothing.” She glares hard at her boots before looking up again. “We’ll keep in touch, yeah?”

Steph should never look hesitant. “Of course.” Tim debates with himself before deciding to take a leaf out of Dick’s book and gooses her. She yelps satisfyingly, wide-eyed. “It’s my night off. Bruce and Dick have got things covered. Maybe Cass, too. Want to beat up some muggers?”

She tips her head back and laughs, joyful, long and loud. He hasn’t heard that sound in so long. “I really shouldn’t – ” she says, before pausing. Tim notices the tiny gold hoops in her ears; she hadn’t had them back in Massachusetts. They look expensive. “Okay, never mind. Let’s go!”

They jump off the roof together, holding hands for as long as possible before they have to let go. This is how it should be, thinks Tim. Swinging through the night air, through the darkened streets. Steph by his side and Dick’s voice in his ear. Gotham is his home.

 

 

MISC NOTES:

**Cass:** liaison between Brucie and Angels

 **Jason:** Demi Moore, 24, ex-Robin gone rogue, injured and beaten Joker – woke up – Brucie refused to let him continue to work. Sabotages the Angels, gatecrashes a meeting

 **Dick:** Drew Barrymore, 29, worked with ex-Robin Jason, distinctive butt, keeps falling for bad guys

 **Tim:** Lucy Liu, 22, newer Robin, tech expert, studied at MIT – dropped out to work for Brucie after Steph’s death

 **Steph:** criminal father, helped in a police investigation against her father, cop, killed in shoot out, perp escaped – only clue was joker’s card – Joker

 

Dick: half dressed, rushes out in his blue and black suit uniform top, sweat pants. Weird expression. 

_____: “are you all right?”

The look Dick gives _____ is almost embarrassed, “I’m – not wearing the right support.”

 

“Meet/rendezvous at ...”

“I’ll bring the ______”

Dick: “I’ll bring the _cool_.”

 

Scene with Cass/Tim interaction ... Steph and Cass UNHOLY ALLIANCE?? 

Brucie and Tim interaction – society function?? Explain why Brucie doesn’t have face to face time with his Angels

Does Steph find out that the Joker killed her/link to Goldman/try to get revenge?


End file.
